


When You Come Undone

by UptheBoards



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UptheBoards/pseuds/UptheBoards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James meets up with Brenden following the 6-4 win over the Canadiens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Since mankind picked up a club and headed out for the day, it has been the (mostly) unspoken rule that you don’t bring work home, well unless it’s a meal. The rule applies to all professions, even those employed by the National Hockey League. Sure you can talk about the game, but you don’t repeat what happens in the locker room and you certainly don’t bring the emotions home.

James had watched the game from the seat of a stationary bike, sure not the best seat in the house but it was still better than sitting at home. He’d been told by the training staff that he could watch from Mario’s suite, but. . .it was Mario Lemieux. It didn’t seem right to just head up there and sit down next to Le Magnifique, he should ask you to come, right? Plus, James didn’t want to draw any more attention to the fact that he wasn’t playing and before that, not playing well. You never know.

James watches most of the game, only flipping away to watch the tribute in Boston. He’s sure the hockey gods will understand - this is bigger than rivalries and points. 

A win feels good, even when you have to be fan. James is off the bike before the final buzzer and stands at the locker room door to greet his team with a fist bump. He (lightly) bumps shoulders with Geno and Paulie for their own celebration. Soon it’ll be a real one. The other two injured Pens follow their teams into the locker room at the end of the line, but James heads down the opposite way, someone is missing and that only means one thing. Brenden Morrow is the number one star. He stays in the tunnel, just out of view and looks out over the ice. 

The fans are still cheering on their hero of the night and Brenden’s voice is drifting out over the ice, but James can’t hear what is being said. He can hear skates gliding across glass, rubber snapping against wood and that metallic ping at end. This is what he lives for, the sights, the sounds, the smells. The game. 

A loud uproar from the crowd breaks his brief reverie and signals the end of the interview and the end of the game. With it, comes Brenden bounding off the ice. And past James.

“Hey! Brenden!” James shouts as he runs to catch up to the other man. “Big superstar have time for an autograph? Lifelong fan here,” James crows and then pulls on Brenden’s sleeve. 

For someone who just spent nearly 20 minutes on the ice, Brenden is quick to move. He turns on James, his opposite hand coming down hard on James’ wrist to separate them. “Fuck B,” James groans, “I was fucking kidding.” As he massages his wrist, James really looks at Brenden. He doesn’t even recognize his friend.

Brenden’s face is hard and closed off; his posture is wrong too, too stiff and rail straight. James can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, even with the chest protector and jersey. “Are you. . .” He means to ask OK, but Brenden doesn’t even let him finish, he just walks off and into the locker room. 

James stands in the hallway, rooted to spot until Brenden disappears from view. Never in recollection has he seen Brenden like that, so clearly not present. Usually his friend was all loose smiles and soft eyes off-ice, but this, this was something. . .feral. 

When a cart bumps his heel, James is jolted out of his thoughts for the second time that night and forced to move. He doesn’t go back to the locker room but instead heads to the training room and gets back on the bike. James pushes himself, probably more than is acceptable for someone who does have a concussion, but it feels good. He lets the adrenaline clear his thoughts and soon forgets about the encounter in the hall. 

He doesn’t even notice his teammates filing in and out of the room for their post-game sessions, well not until Duper presses two fingers to his forehead and forces his head up so that they’re eye to eye. 

“Nealer, earth to Nealer,” Dupuis says in a strange accent that James can’t even begin to understand. “We are heading to eat, coming?” James quickly shakes his head, “No thanks Dupes, I haven’t really done anything to deserve a steak.” He climbs off the bike, grabbing his training bag and starts to walk away before calling over his shoulder, “But neither have you, so I don’t know why you’re going!” He dodges the water bottle that gets launched at him and quickly hustles away before anything else takes flight. You can’t really explain why you have another concussion from a dumbbell.

James actually is a little hungry, but he needs to shower now and wouldn’t want to hold up everyone. Even more so, he doesn’t think he can sit at the table and listen to them all talk about the win while he talks about the latest episode of The Bachelor. It was a team win, but he doesn’t feel a part of the team.

He gets into the doorway of the locker room before someone roughly bumps his shoulder and James isn’t really surprised that it’s Brenden. What he isn't expecting is Brenden to tip his head as an indication to follow, but he does and then walks out. James doesn’t hesitate; he follows the feisty winger, but stays a few steps behind, watching. He curses himself inwardly; he’d forgotten that they’d driven to the rink together. Brenden had been waiting for him all this time while he’d been racking up the miles on the bike. If he was mad before, he’d have to be fuming now.

The 20-minute drive is tense. And silent. Neither says anything, James doesn’t even look at Brenden, he just focuses on the road. The radio is a soft hum, and though James wants it louder so it drowns out his thoughts, he doesn’t change anything. At least Brenden isn’t yelling at him, he’d expected something once the car doors had been shut, but it never comes. They’re so close in the coupe that he thinks he can feel the anger radiating off the other man. James tries to think about anything else, but fuck, why is he sweating now? And what is that poking at the back of his neck. James doesn’t change anything.

They’ve barely stopped moving before Brenden has the car door open. James sits for a few moments and listens to the engine settle. How did it get like this? He wonders what he’d done to set off one of his best and oldest friends so violently. Obviously something. “I’m an asshole,” James mumbles to himself, mostly as confirmation, before he gets out and heads inside. Brenden is nowhere to be seen, probably shut up in his room, the one place that doesn’t remind him that this is James’ house. James chews his lip anxiously.

His stomach has impeccable timing and chooses then to remind it’s owner that yes, we’re hungry and chewing your lip won’t suffice. James settles on something easy, something low stress and most importantly, something low noise. Organic PB & J on gluten-free bread. 

Sure enough once the sandwich is made, James can’t bring himself to eat it; he picks at the crust instead, leaning on the kitchen island. He’s thinking over the list of reasons that could have fucked everything up. And it is a laundry list: he’s messy, he likes to sleep in, he rarely cooks for himself, he’s bossy, he’s always cold, he takes Brenden clothes and touches his things and he’s just a bad friend in general. 

James thinks it might be something else though, he wants this more than Brenden does. Whatever this is. James starts to worry his bottom lip again. He hadn’t intended to start anything with Brenden, he was just glad to have his friend back, but it had felt right – comfortable. To James it had at least. Since he’d first hugged him at the airport, he always wants to touch Brenden and have Brenden touching him. Honestly though, James is content to just be around his friend and have that steadying presence. He’d assumed the feelings were mutual between them, but obviously not, James knows he’d forced this.

He spends a few minutes lost in those thoughts until another floats up through the muck, why hadn’t Brenden said anything before now? 

They’d been at this for 2 weeks, Brenden could have ended it after the first night and he would have understood. James wonders if it was all to make him feel like fool – revenge for leaving.


	2. Chapter 2

The universe is just and not at all fucked, so as James starts to stew, Brenden makes his appearance. He had changed out of his suit and is now wearing sweats and one of James’ 412 shirts. That’s fucking rich. He still doesn’t talk, but looks directly at James, their eyes meeting in a mutual angry glare. Brenden is the first to break it, but it’s only because he strides across the kitchen and stands directly behind James at the sink so that their backs are facing each other. 

James lasts for maybe a minute, but that’s stretching it - greatly. He turns and pushes Brenden, hard enough that his hips snap against the counter with a heavy thud. “Are you going to fucking say anything?” James snarls to his back. With the blood thundering in his ears, James hadn’t even heard the sink turn on, but sure enough when Brenden reels on him, a slow stain is spreading on his chest and abdomen as the water snakes down his front. 

There’s an uncomfortable flutter in James’ stomach and he stares at wet skin exposed by a low collar – the dip at the base of Brenden’s thick neck, the freckles dotting his collarbone. . . James swallows thickly.

Of course Brenden notices, James would wager his NHL career on it. He knows that fucking smug grin. It’s the “I just scored a goal, beat the shit out of you AND I'm going to fuck your girl later” mien.

“I don’t need to say anything, do I James?” Brenden purrs and licks his lips. He steps forward into James’ space and when James doesn’t move, he plants a hand on either side of the younger man’s chest and shoves him back. James curses when his lower back connects with the island, but he can’t dwell on it because Brenden is crowding into his space. “You’re already so fucking hard for me,” Brenden breathes down the other man’s neck. James shivers. It’s true, his body has betrayed him and that only makes him feel worse. He’s confused and angry and that fucker is just so damn cocky. One of Brenden’s hands has found its way south and is rubbing James roughly through too many layers of fabric. The other is gripping a five-finger bruise into the pale skin of James’ hip.

That’s enough.

James clips Brenden heavily underneath the eye with an undercut. He isn’t exactly sure why throwing a punch is the first thing that comes to mind, but it probably has something to do with that fucking smile.

The punch staggers Brenden a bit, but not enough for James to get any traction; he’s still trapped against the island. The other man is quick to react and he lands a solid jab on James’ jaw, knuckles splitting the soft skin of his bottom lip. 

When James makes to swing again, Brenden grabs his right arm. When James shifts left to compensate, Brenden is able to fist a his hand into James’ hair and force his head back. Such an offside move. James is furious, breathing hard and eyes burning, he hadn’t expected hair pulling from a guy with as many fights as Brenden. He tries to break the grasp by driving down into Brenden’s elbow with his free hand, but it only strengthens Brenden’s resolve when he feels the resistance.

Brenden closes the distance between them for a kiss. It’s rough and he bites James’ already tender lips, opening the cut further. The young winger pulls back with a hiss but Brenden again presses in and is there, licking the corner of his mouth. There are only a few pounds difference between them, but fuck Brenden is so solid – James starts to feel like he’s suffocating.

When Brenden moves his hand from the younger man’s hip, James can feel the brand there, he knows it’ll be blue later that night - he'll be feeling it for weeks.

Brenden uses two fingers to smear the blood that has pooled across James’ lips then slides them into his open mouth. James can’t stop himself, he laves at the digits, tasting the familiar salty tang of his own blood. It's over faster than he wants, Brenden pulls them away, slick with spit and replaces the hold on his hip. He pulls James’ hips into his.

“This is so fucked up,” James thinks. The world seems to have tilted just enough so that everything about the day has been slightly uncomfortable – a little off. When Brenden laughs low in his throat, James realizes he has said it out loud. 

Brenden draws away, but only to reposition himself so that his mouth is hovering just barely above James’ exposed neck. He can feel the threat of his teeth against his pulse, but James stays tense and holds the little ground he has. He focuses on pulling air into his lungs, which isn’t the easiest of tasks with his throat angled back. James shivers when Brenden’s breath tumbles down across his neck, cooling the sweat already beading there.

The grip in his hair is nearly too much, and when Brenden twists his wrist cruelly, James can’t help but cry out. He gets held there at an angle so he can only see the other man through his periphery. “Fuck, I’m sorry ok? Brenden, I’m done.” James drops his gaze, “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I didn’t mean to do this.” The younger winger allows himself to go slack, giving in. He’s exhausted. In every possible way, James is spent.

It’s as if Brenden is electrocuted when the statement hits, he immediately releases his hold on the younger man and takes a step back. James can finally look his friend in the eyes again; he can see the embers burning behind his friend’s eyes, the anger and frustration clearly still simmering there. 

That’s when it hits him; unbelievably, all this isn’t personal. Brenden isn’t pissed at him; this is all because of the game.

“What?” Brenden says, somewhat dumbly. He slides a hand along the reddened skin of James’ cheek when his friend doesn’t answer. “Do what, Kid?”

“This.” James gestures vaguely between them. “I forced you into this…thing and I’m needy and bossy and I always sleep in your bed and I can’t cook and I just…” James trails off when he realizes he’s blurted that mess out into the open. There really isn’t any going back now, there’s no salvaging it. James starts to pull away - he just wants to be done.

Brenden breaks completely when he sees what he has done to James; the pain is etched on his friend’s face. He steps in front of the other man so he can’t leave and wraps an arm around James waist, the other still on his cheek. “Hey, Kid.” Brenden lightly tilts James face so they’re looking each other in the eye.

“I’m all in with whatever we’re doing here, I have been for years. You don’t have to question that.” James lets himself melt into his friend, supporting himself with two hands resting on Brenden’s hips. “It’s me and you Kid, and it’s not perfect,” Brenden pauses to swallow deeply, “but you are.” 

James groans softly, “No need to patronize.” He squeezes Brenden a bit. “I meant you’re perfect for me, and you know it, asshole.” Brenden brings their foreheads together, and they stay like that for a few beats, each content to breathe in the moment. “Are we ok?” he asks lowly, James barely hears it – the words are so quiet.

James nods into Brenden’s palm, nuzzling against the hockey-calloused roughness that he wouldn’t change. This is the Brenden he knows. “Captain,” he murmurs. They share a soft and lazy kiss and while Brenden massages James’ scalp. James strokes down his friend’s arms, from shoulder to finger tip massaging the tense coils from each muscle as he goes. Brenden changes their angle a bit so that he can press James into the island again. Though not with the same ferocity as a few punches ago. He sucks the hinge of James’ jaw before licking down his neck, tasting the sweat and breathing in that uniquely masculine scent that is all James. Brenden bites off a loud moan. It's useless though because James cants his hips against the shorter man and Brenden doesn’t hold it back this time. All the little noises Brenden makes go straight to James’ cock and he presses down on himself with one hand, needing something.

“Fuck me,” James husks out suddenly. He stuns himself a little with the blunt admission and starts to flush before he looks away, but fuck he wants it. It’s been a long time, too long, since he’s fucked anyone and never a man, never a teammate. 

But Brenden is more than that, he always has been.

“R-Really?” Brenden stutters. His eyes are wide, pupils blown. He won’t deny that he’s been thinking about it or even that he hasn’t pulled out a few to an image of exactly this over the years, but this is real life. James is here and asking.

“Please Captain,” James whispers. “I need you…right now.” James doesn't wait for an answer, he needs to push the pace. He eagerly pushes off Brenden’s sweats. He isn’t really surprised that he’s commando underneath, he bets Brenden would have had a hand wrapped around his own cock in his bedroom right now had James not confronted him. Once Brenden has pulled off the still damp tee-shirt, James bends and slowly licks a strip from the base of Brenden’s cock to the hollow in his neck. When he pulls back a bit, James notices his split lip has started to leak again and now there’s a visible indication of the path he took on Brenden's body.

“Ughh, damn it Brenden,” James curses. Maybe cursing Brenden for doing it or maybe himself for making a mess, but it doesn’t matter. 

“Are you into this?” Brenden questions. James doesn’t bother with an answer; he’s already too busy making a second pass to lap up the stains. Looking down his body and seeing James bloodied and bruised gets Brenden back to being fully hard and leaking without him even knowing he wanted it. “You're so fucking hot, Kid.” He pulls James up for a searing kiss. They knock teeth and it’s a bit sloppy but neither cares. James pulls away and shucks off his shirt, then quickly pushes his own sweats down to a heap at his ankles. Brenden notices something interesting, James is still wearing compression shorts underneath. “You’ve been. . .” 

James shuts him up the easiest way possible; he kneels and takes the thick hot length of Brenden in his mouth. It’s a little more of a stretch for James this time, his jaw aches and the corners of his mouth burn, but that doesn’t deter him. It’s good, so good to have Brenden’s cock forcing his mouth open, pushing down into his throat. He’s a little hurried, so when Brenden slides his fingers across James’ cheeks to feel himself, he’s rewarded with James’ nails digging into his thigh. He presses hard enough that it leaves little white crescents in Brenden’s flushed skin.

James inhales sharply through his nose, just as he’s starting to get a rhythm that damned cut has fucked things up again. It’s a bit worse than before because now he’s sweating and it stings a little more each time a droplet passes around his stretched mouth and down the corner of his lips. Brenden sees the blood before James does, it’s spreading down his cock as James bobs. That’s enough. 

He lightly pushes an indignant James back and is turning him around. The compression shorts are pretty much glued to James’ body, tacky with sweat and pre-come so Brenden has to force his hands on either side and guide them off. He isn’t going to complain too much though; he gets to stroke down James’ meaty thighs and ass in the process. When he sees the red marks dug into James’ waist, he can’t help but bite the junction between shoulder and neck, pressing his cock against James’ ass as he rubs his hands up and down the cuts. 

“I’m going to mark you, Kid, just like this. Everyone will know who you belong to.” James moans in approval, dropping his back to rest on Brenden’s shoulder. “Only you, Captain.” He sucks what’s sure to be a bruise on a high section of James’ neck, no hiding that one.

James starts to grind back against Brenden’s hips a little more desperately; he’s starting to lose patience, as hot as the foreplay has been. “C’mon Captain,” he pleads. Don’t need to ask twice. Brenden pushes between James shoulder blades until James is bent in half over the island, forearms down for support. 

The thousands of squats and lifts they do have really paid off, because James' ass is perfect. He spreads a palm over each cheek and grabs while James makes slightly impatient noises. That gets James a firm and openhanded smack. James gasps, all the air rushing out of him. That’s new, and…hot, he pushes back, lifting his hips a little off the counter. Brenden’s hand comes down again a few more times, the sound of skin on skin ringing through the near silence. 

Finally, Brenden is done teasing, he circles the puckered pink flesh and slips the tip of his index finger inside, groaning at the heat around him. They hadn’t really thought of the mechanics involved in this, so Brenden has to spit onto James’ hole for some much needed lubrication before he starts to curl his finger. James has fingered himself before, so he takes the digit somewhat easily, but it’s very different – overwhelming. This isn’t a quick whack job, this is Brenden pressing inside him. 

When James doesn’t tell him to stop, Brenden adds a second finger and this time James has to shut his eyes. He tries to focus on breathing, come up for air, in and out. Brenden rubs circles into James’ hip with his free hand, trying to relax the younger man. Brenden scissors his fingers and James hisses, that bites a little. 

Again James dictates the pace, he pushes back against Brenden’s fingers, taking them in farther and he gets rewarded with a third. “F-fuck!” James cry outs and his back arcs involuntarily. He whines low in his throat and tries to relax against the intrusion. “You good?” Brenden questions. James nods a little shakily, and he probably isn’t good yet, but when Brenden curls his fingers and they find his prostate, he forgets about any residual pain. Brenden leans over him, which forces his fingers deeper and makes James gasp, so that they can share a messy kiss. “Now, now, please,” James keens after a few more skilled ministrations by Brenden, and soon the fingers withdrawing. 

Brenden hesitates. James knows why. The condom. Or lack thereof in this case. “Yes.” He says, clearly, without anything else needing to be said. He trusts Brenden with everything - this is no different. James knows it’s mutual.

Brenden slicks his cock as best he can with pre-come and a little more spit before he grips the base of his shaft and slowly presses in until just the tip disappears within that tight heat. James senses the hesitation, he knows Brenden doesn’t want to hurt him, but if he doesn’t they’ll never end up doing this. He reaches back and uses the other man's thigh, to pull him closer. Brenden settles his free hand in the small of James’ back and slowly starts to push. 

When he gets about hallway in, James lets out a sob so loud that it startles him to hear something like that come out of his own body. It hurts, it really fucking hurts. James scrabbles to get some purchase on the sweat slick counter, but settles for just spreading out his hands, palm down. Brenden doesn’t move, he doesn’t think he even breathes.

“James, fuck, I’m sorry.” Brenden keeps a hold on James’ back, keeping them still, but he strokes his free hand up and down James’ thigh. James is breathing hard, “Keep going,” he grits out. He doesn’t care if it hurts; he just wants Brenden buried in him, seated to the hilt. It takes a few beats more for Brenden to comply, but he does push in even slower than before - he can feel James clenching against the intrusion. When his hips are finally flush with James’ ass, Brenden let’s go of his cock and works on relaxing James. All of the younger man’s muscles are tense, Brenden can see them straining underneath the skin. He touches any skin he can, massaging James back, his sides, his thighs. 

This is so much more than James thought it would be. He’s never felt like this before where every nerve in his body is tingling and yet, it leaves him wanting. James keep breathing, relaxing into the sensation of being so full. He experimentally pull his hips forward a bit and pushes back, it burns but in a pleasant way. He again is left wanting. “Move.” He demands.

Brenden lets out a shuddering breath that he didn’t know he was holding and pulls back a little, before thrusting forward. James is so tight and hot and it feels so fucking good. He starts slow, easing in and out because it’s too dry and there is still too much friction. “Stop fucking worrying about hurting me!” James snaps, his voice gravelly. “Harder, now.”

There isn’t any hesitation this time, Brenden draws nearly all the way out until his cock head pulls on the rim of James’ hole and then he slams back in. This draws a more favorable reaction from his partner, James’ head snaps up, his mouth open in a soundless scream. Brenden does it a few mores times before he starts to pump in and out, setting a frantic pace. James swears roughly, Brenden is so thick and hard, stretching him open and filling him up. It feels amazing, the pain long forgotten in the passion. He thinks about fisting himself, but each drive into him causes his cock to bump against the counter, that’ll do for now.

James needs to see; he wants the image burned into the back of his brain, he wants to see this every time he closes his eyes. He twists a little, thankful for the hot yoga classes the trainers suggested, and it’s better than he hoped. Brenden’s mouth is open and head thrown back, the tendons in his neck standing out sharply. There’s sweat dripping down the smooth lines of his chest, a deep flush colouring the tan skin. Brenden snaps his hips and James collapses down onto the island, mouth open to let out a filthy moan. The older winger drags blunt nails over James’ tingling skin, raking a path from his shoulders to the tops of his ass.

Brenden bends over until he’s flush with James’ back, his forearms down on the granite outside of James’. It nearly sends both of them over. The extra heat and weight overwhelm James before he can even start to think about the drag of Brenden’s hard, muscled and sweat slick body against the tender skin of his back. He lets his head drop into his chest and pants, mouth unable to close at this point. He also doesn’t even try to stop any of the embarrassing noises that are coming out of his mouth now. He lets Brenden ring each moan and scream out, loud and desperate. His thrusts start to become a little faster, a little more erratic and he doesn’t have to say it for James to know he’s close. “Don’t,” James whines as his partner starts drawing out. It doesn’t take more than that to push Brenden over; he comes inside James, marking him from the inside out. Brenden collapses forward, unable to hold himself as he rides the orgasm out. James does his best to clench around Brenden’s cock, milking every drop as his friend comes down from the adrenaline rush.

Eventually James elbows Brenden’s ribs; he can’t really breathe comfortably anymore and his dick is still painfully hard. Finally, Brenden pulls out carefully but even with that, James can’t help the uncomfortable whine that slips past his lips at the feeling of it. 

Strong hands are on his over-sensitive skin, guiding James up by his hips so that they can share a kiss. James ruts a little against the other man, painting Brenden’s stomach with his leaking cock. When he reaches between them to finish James off, James shakes his head and lets himself sink down to the floor. He knows his legs would give out if he tried to do this standing.

He starts to stroke, slicking himself with sweat and pre-come, while Brenden leans back against the counter, clearly enjoying the show. This is starting to become a thing. When James spreads his legs a little too wide, he yelps and that draws Brenden’s attention down. James squirms; some of Brenden’s come has started to drip out of him. Fuck, that’s unpleasant. He isn’t sure why this of all things would be the tipping point, but he’s suddenly self-conscious under Brenden’s gaze. 

James looks back up at his friend, and what he sees causes his stomach to flip. Brenden sucking his lip, eyes dark and hooded and he is gripping the counter with white knuckles, trying to keep himself from lunging forward.

James reaches down and when he tries to push the salty substance away from his raw skin, his thumb slides inside and gets hung up on the rim. He hisses and quickly removes his hand, ya not doing that again. James isn’t surprised that when he brings his hand away that there’s a mix of blood there.

It doesn’t take more than a few quick strokes before James comes into his hand, back bowed and his head thrown up to let a loud moan tear from his throat. He drops chin to chest as the spasms rock through him. When he comes back up, James locks eyes with Brenden before he swirls his tongue in the pearly liquid, making a show of it before he laps up the liquid and swallows. The noise that his audience makes is clearly worth the bitter after-taste. 

If he were younger, Brenden knows he would be rock hard again because fuck if this sight isn’t divine. James is wrecked - swollen and split lips, there’s a slight red stain across one cheek, his pupils are still blown and eyes hazy, his hair, well, it usually looks like that, but still, it’s fucking hot. Brenden thinks it might also be the knowledge the James is hurting in a way that he hasn’t ever before, a uniquely intimate way.

He hauls a boneless James up and though he tries not to, James winces. The older winger soothes a hand down his friend's spine and pulls James into his side so he can support him, “Bed?” James just nods. Nothing has sounded better. They kiss, no real heat or desperation, it’s slow and soft – grounding.

Brenden deposits James into his bed to get settled. James’ own bed is probably dusty by now with the amount of time that gets spent there. A few minutes later Brenden comes back with two things, a damp, but warm hand towel and the PB&J sandwich.

James goes for the sandwich first.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not too pleased with how this turned out, kinda ended up mashing together two very different ideas I had floating around. Soooo after I've posted the second part I'm more than likely going to rewrite a large portion of this. Wanted to get it out there either way though. Suggestions and thoughts always welcomed!


End file.
